


Storms Over Still Water

by Blisterdude



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Family Issues, Incest, Jacob is introspective, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blisterdude/pseuds/Blisterdude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Creed was just asking for trouble really, sometimes. Nothing is true? Everything is permitted? It certainly gave one a degree of liberty. And philosophers had spent centuries debating the essence of the words.<br/>Evie had just come up with her own one day, some years ago."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Storms Over Still Water

The chill morning air sent a light shiver up his spine as he climbed onto the roof of the block of apartments. The sky was dark and heavy over London, and already a light rain had started, dispersing the mist.

“There’s going to be a storm.” Evie said, looking out over the city. She didn’t turn at his arrival.

To some that might have looked clever, but Jacob knew it was because he was just out of breath and hungover from the night before. Even though she usually _did_ always hear him before he saw her, anyway.

“Well spotted.” He replied, jovially, dusting himself off from the climb.

There wasn’t any wind. It wasn’t very cold either. It would probably be a bad one when it finally broke.

“What’s on the agenda today then, Evie Frye?” He asked, casually, as he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and strolled over, stopping beside her.

“Mr Green suggested you head to Lambeth didn’t he?” She glanced at him disapprovingly.

“I can’t remember, to tell the truth.” He took off his weather-beaten top-hat, running a hand through his hair idly. “Got a bit carried away celebrating Kaylock’s death with the boys last night.”

“Yes, I heard.” His sister smiled  wryly.

“You should have come along.” He nudged her with his elbow, putting his hands back in his pockets. “The Rooks are as much yours as mine. Decent speech you made I thought.”

“I still can’t believe you called your gang that, Jacob.” She replied, stepping around the subject.

He knew she still wasn’t totally on board with his plans for London, but then he wasn’t completely on board with hers either.

Evie had always been the better Assassin, by the terms of the Creed at least. As much as it gave a certain license, a freedom to fight wrongs and help the innocent, he found at times, that it just got in the way.

He couldn’t understand why the other Assassins still hid outside London, rather than taking action. Caution had allowed the Templars a century of preparation and solidification of their position in the capital.

He also knew that, to some extent, Evie agreed. She held to the Creed far more than he, and she was definitely a better thinker, planner, leader…not that he’d ever admit it. But she was here, in London with him. And she didn’t have to be. That counted for something. She was better than the rest of the Brotherhood.

All this crossed his mind fairly quickly, before another thought popped into his mind.

“Wait, did you call him _Mr Green_?” He chuckled, when her face wrinkled, embarrassed. “Greenie?”

“It’s his name.” Evie replied curtly, and a little defensively. She crossed her arms, staring straight ahead.

“His name is Greenie. Or Henry, if you’re feeling generous.” He smirked. “Mr Green, God have mercy.” He chuckled away to himself again.

“You don’t have to be so cruel to him.” She added, somewhat seriously.

“It’s only because I like him. And because you do.” He shrugged.

“I do not-…” She argued, glaring at him. “Jacob Frye, you come out with some utter rubbish.”

“Do too.” He grinned when she turned sharply away from him again, but not in time for him to see the shadow of a smile on her lips.

He did like Henry. It was hard not to respect a man who’d stuck to his guns and lived alone in a city of Templars all this time. Whether carrying out his duty, or simply doing as much as one man alone could do to help in an unsalvageable situation.

Jacob wasn’t sure whether the Master Assassin suspected he or his sister were technically here of their own volition, and not at the behest of the Council. But honestly, he seemed like a good man, one who wanted to change things. He wondered if when it finally came out, they could count on his continued support.

He looked up as the rain started getting heavier, pulling down the brim of his hat a little in response as he noticed Evie put her hood up too.

“I just don’t think we need to be alienating the support of the only veteran assassin in the city.” Evie replied, as if she’d given it some thought. “Especially because the Brotherhood did not sanction our…mission here.”

“True.” Jacob nodded, thoughtfully. “They wanted to give the Templars another century to work with.”

Evie shot him a sidelong glance, but it wasn’t angry, or annoyed.

“You have a way of putting things sometimes that does cut rather to the heart of the matter, Jacob Frye.” Evie grinned briefly. “Their hold here is strong, and they have a head start on the Piece of Eden.”

“We have Whitechapel already.” Jacob replied, confidently. “And you have your own lead from Greenie, right?”

“It’s a start.” She conceded, shrugging.

“It’s a damn good start.” He replied, more insistently.

“Mr Green…” She paused to glare at him when he chuckled again. “…says we have a lot of work to do. He has contacts and other potential allies we’d need to impress and work with throughout the city. We need to be clever about this, brother.”

“All I need is somebody to point out who to kill and where they are.”

She turned on him, suddenly very serious.

“They’ve been here a century Jacob. A _hundred_ years. Starrick and his organisation are probably built into the infrastructure of the city. You need to think this through. There might be consequences to their removal.”

That was their father still speaking through Evie, Jacob mused. Never lose yourself to passion or emotion, never let yourself slip, never drop the composed Assassin façade. 


He had groomed and trained Evie into the perfect Assassin, she was his legacy. Jacob had learned, but he cared less for the ideals and dogma of others. He thought of himself as a moral man, for the most part, and they were his own. He had never grasped why the Templar dogma was evil when the Assassin Brotherhood’s rules were as stringent and yet inherently _good_.

He’d loved his father, and his memories of the man were treasured, but…

…Evie would never understand sometimes why he just wished people would forget him. How often had the ghost of their father been used against them, how often would his memory be called up to put them down, raise them up, drag them along?

And there was Evie.

His sister adored the man, looked up to him like no other. More than anything, she wanted to carry his legacy on, and more than he, she would be the one to do it. She was a near perfect Assassin.

But she was so broken as a person. She was so full up of Assassin lore and knowledge, he often thought, that there was no room left for anything else. No happiness or sadness, no friends, no…no lovers…

…well, that last part wasn’t technically true.

Something his sister was fully aware of, if the look on her face was any judge.

“What are you thinking about now?” She asked, throwing him a knowing, sidelong glance.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, pulling up the collar on his coat against the rain. “Should we stop?” He asked, aware she knew what he was talking about.

The Creed was just asking for trouble really, sometimes. Nothing is true? Everything is permitted? It certainly gave one a degree of liberty. And philosophers had spent centuries debating the essence of the words.

Evie had just come up with her own one day, some years ago.

“Do you want to?” She turned to face him, tugging the collar of his coat so he was doing the same.

Their father had meant to prepare them, to train them and hone them into the perfect Assassins. A legacy to shake the Templar Order to its foundations, Evie might say. They’d been pushed together, trained together, fought together, learned together. They were as close as any two humans could be, physically, mentally, emotionally…what few of those his sister allowed herself, anyway.

Between the two of them, their father at least half-succeeded. 

“…well…” He mumbled, trying and failing to avoid Evie’s gaze.

Of course, Jacob doubted their father had expected this particular outcome of their upbringing. Denied the freedom to grow and learn on their own, shut off from the world to all but the Brotherhood. As sheltered as they were, was it any wonder it had happened? Or was he just making excuses? He at least had snuck out from time to time, night-time excursions, experimentations. Evie though…

“Are you jealous, Jacob Frye?”

He tensed as his sisters hand slid down from his collar to his chest.

Evie had taken the initiative. Evie always did.

How long ago was it? Two years? Three? It probably ran back even longer, rooted somewhere far away in their childhood, but things finally came to a head after a particularly painful training session. The two of them leaning against one another, panting, sweating, exhausted. Their father had just left the room. They were both stripped down to the bare essentials. Both bruised and bandaged. Both _so tired._

“No.” He lied. “But maybe you and Greenie… maybe it would be good-”

He stopped when her hand slid down to his belt buckle. Her other gloved hand cupped his rough, stubble-covered cheek. His eyes met hers, both expressions as guarded as the other’s.

“I think I know what’s good for me.” She replied, lips curling in the shadow of a smile.

Jacob wasn’t sure that was true, but she knew what she wanted, at any rate. And most times she got that.

Evie always took the lead.

Their father hadn’t even been surprised when he’d found them together, one night. That had surprised Jacob the most. After that, it was merely an open secret among the Brotherhood. Known but never discussed, vaguely referenced, but never pointed out.

Their father just…accepted it, as if it was some foreseen product of their training. He just _accepted_ it.

And then he died.

And still, none in the Brotherhood challenged them. And so they continued.

He didn’t resist as she leaned up, pressing her lips against his. They were cool, and her face was wet with the rain.

The last time they’d been like this had been before they left Crawley.

It wasn’t exactly romantic, it was more complicated than that. It had certainly never been simple.

His hands found their way to her arms and he pulled her closer, leaning down as she folded against him.

There was the low rumble of thunder some distance away, across the city, as the storm finally broke.

Evie broke the kiss, easing out of his embrace, leaving him in that slightly-confused, dazed state he always was afterwards.

“We’ve got work to do.” She said, only a little out of breath.

“True enough.” He cleared his throat, straightening out his jacket.

They shared a brief look.

“I’ll see you later, Jacob.” She flashed him a grin before running off to the right and leaping over the edge.

“Later.” He murmured.

He watched until she was out of sight before turning south, toward Lambeth, where the rain was coming down hard over the still waters of the Thames.


	2. Cold Feet

_"Again."_

_She stifled a groan, knowing her father would only look at her with mild annoyance or sympathy. She wasn't sure which she could face less at that point._

_With some effort, she raised her arms again and slipped into a fluid combat stance, trying hard to ignore the parts of her body protesting vehemently. A sprained wrist, what felt like a cracked rib, she was missing yet another tooth and her knee felt like it was twisted in the wrong direction._

_Father loved them, she knew that. He did this because he loved them. Because he loved her. That was why he was putting them through this now, when there was no chance they'd be killed…maybe._

_Jacob was watching from the side, ostensibly impassive, the blank mask of an Assassin, drilled into them since they were children. But she'd long since learned to read all her brother's tells. His foot was tapping inconsistently, his arms were crossed tightly, fingers drumming and his thick brow was furrowed ever…so…slightly from the effort of trying to do nothing._

_Needless to say, he'd stopped playing cards with her when they'd turned thirteen a couple years back._

_She smiled inwardly, her own face as carefully blank._

_Jacob had a big heart, though he was careful to shroud it in the cavalier attitude and roguish character he was building for himself. He'd already pressed their father twice about letting him take her place in training, and twice the man had rebuffed him in no polite terms. She could feel her brother watching them, itching to push their father to let them trade places again._

_She was equally careful in not letting their father see she'd been looking at her brother instead of paying attention. The last thing she needed was another injury due to her own clumsiness._

_She loved her brother, and he loved her, that was a comfort, when the training got so much she could hardly bear it.. But that was a weakness, and it could be exploited. It would be exploited. Years of lectures and repeated lessons had drilled that into her. She had to be good. She had to be better than good, she had to be perfect. She had to be ready for anything thrown her way. She had to be strong. Stronger than her brother. Stronger for her brother. For her father. For the Assassins._

_She had to be._

_Her father's foot slipped sideways on the mat and her eyes latched onto the motion. She slid in the opposite direction, gritting her teeth against the pain that wracked her body and dropped low. Her father jolted back in the other direction and raised his fist. She saw an opening and went for it. With a heave of effort she struck forward, fast, rising upward as she went. With her left hand she caught her father's fist and drove her right elbow into his exposed stomach._

_Only it wasn't there anymore._

_He'd barely moved at all, but suddenly he was further to the side and as she shot forward the fist she'd caught had hold of her wrist and wrenched it down, behind her back. Her back arched and she cried out, despite her efforts not to, as the her father pulled her feet from under her with his leg and pinned her to the ground._

_The whole thing had taken a couple of seconds._

_She could barely see she was in so much pain, but she could hear Jacob angrily yelling and the pressure on her arm lessening slightly. God, she wanted to stop, just for a minute. She hated herself for her weakness but more than anything at that moment she just wanted someone to hold her hand or give her a hug and tell her there was nothing to be upset about. She despised herself for wanting to cry. Jacob didn't cry during training. Jacob didn't-_

_"Again." Her father whispered in her ear._

The train jolted violently and she snapped awake, confused for a moment between the last of the dream and the waking world, before her senses caught up with her.

She was on the floor, her blankets all caught up in a tangled mess with her body. She was sleeping on one of her arms, an uncomfortable reflection of her dream...her memory. Sometime during the night she must have rolled off the bed, or been rolled off by the motion of the ever-moving train.

The practicalities of living on their mobile hideout were still a little bothersome.

The lamps above her swung a little as the train rolled on. With a grunt, she pulled her blankets together and got to her feet, depositing them back on the bed. The carriage was dark, the sound outside muted with the doors and windows closed. Whoever designed the train had put a lot of effort into soundproofing and other odd comforts not usually afforded on public transport.

She padded quietly toward the door which led to the next carriage, pulling her loose shift she wore to bed straight as she went. The second carriage contained the vault, the planning board and the sofa Jacob had claimed as his own.

She'd offered, then insisted he get a bed for himself, that there was room in the first carriage with her, but in a rare occurrence he'd overruled her and now it was all hers. Through the little window she could see the dull glow of a table lamp, and her brothers' boots, ankles crossed. Where he was sprawled out over the sofa asleep or, rarely, reading.

Bracing herself for the cold, she opened the door, wrapping her arms around herself as the rush of night air blew threw her, cutting to the bone. Gritting her teeth together, in an attempt to stop the involuntary chattering, she stepped out, her feet numb against the metal in an instant.

"Jacob." She managed, rapping her knuckles on the other door.

She saw the boots lurch as she assumed he awoke abruptly. Jacob stumbled to his feet and pulled the door open, eyes wide and blinking irregularly as his brain struggled to catch up with his body. He was still mostly clothed, but without his coat and his shirt was mostly unbuttoned.

He blinked again, eyes travelling up and down her body, a puzzled frown settling on his face. She'd have found it adorable if she wasn't currently freezing her tits off.

Literally, she mused, wryly.

"What the hell are you doing out-"

"C'mon, you lummox." She ordered, grabbing the front of his unbuttoned shirt and dragging him back into the first carriage.

Evie thrust him further in and slammed the door closed behind her, taking a moment to let the feeling return to various extremities.

"What…" Jacob yawned. "…is this all about? I was asleep." He grumbled, slumping down into the armchair across from her bed.

Evie regarded him for a moment, not entirely sure what she  _had_  actually hoped to achieve. The nightmare…dream…memory…whatever, had rattled her, though she'd never admit it, and she didn't want to talk about it right now either.

She was lonely, then.

She thought sink in a for a minute. minute, depressing her a little. Bit pathetic, really, but there it was.

As an afterthought, she tugged the curtains across the door, then stalked across the carriage, before remembering she'd already closed the others earlier.

Jacob watched all this with a kind of tired, if amused expression.

"Bad dream?" He said quietly. Leaning back in the chair and yawning again.

She stopped in her tracks, half-marched back the way she'd come. She could feel Jacob watching her, or…well…not  _just_  watching, really. She recognised the feeling, the subtle shift in micro-expressions as his eyes travelled lazily around the carriage, pausing on certain parts of her body.

Even given the nature of their relationship, and their past, and whatever the hell was in their potentially short future, she couldn't deny the attention was flattering. His idiot smile made her feel a way she rarely allowed herself to. Special. Wanted. Human.

She turned to face him, arms crossed.

"The only thing to be scared of in the dark is…well…us, Jacob." She smirked. "And you're a bit shy of intimidating with that ratty top hat you found." She leaned from one foot to the other, glancing from her brother to the floor.

He sighed, sliding further back into the chair, watching her. She waited a moment, before he finally relinquished and patted his leg slightly.

"Hey." He argued, idly, as she slid into his lap. "I like that hat."

His arms folded around her as she pulled her knees up to her chest, thumbing her chilly feet. His hands rubbed her arms.

In any number of romance novels she'd heard about, she supposed this was the moment where all kinds of flowery prose about his rough, but gentle touch would send sparks through her flushed, soft skin.

But they were both coarse, rough and worn. Both scarred and bruised. Her skin was pale, his a kind of ruddy tan. He wasn't like the handsome heroes from the books and she wasn't any kind of picturesque beauty, by the normal standard. His beard was messy and she had a mass of dark freckles across her face. Their eyes were dark and their noses sort of stumpy. Her brow was strong, defined, not soft and curved like a noble woman.

Henry was different. He was handsome, kind, pretty. His eyes were captivating and she got a little thrill every time he looked at her or smiled. It was different to Jacob, though. She did like him, not that admitting it would end her brother's constant mockery.

She jumped a little when his dry hands squeezed hers before moving onto her feet, massaging them carefully. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as he leaned forward, nuzzling her through her loose, dark locks.

"Cold feet." She turned her head slightly, breathing softly into his ear.

"That'll happen." He murmured, his breath hot on her skin. "Want me to start the fire?"

He raised one of his hands, pulling her hair back over her shoulder and trailing a series of kisses up her neck. She lifted one of her own, cupping his face, leaving several kisses of her own around his cheek and ear.

"Jacob Frye," She began, voice hitching as his hand slipped down to her chest. ", if you even think of moving I'll never speak to you again."

"Don't get my hopes up." He chuckled, throatily.

They fell quiet, holding one another in the darkness for some time. Only a kiss there or a soft touch there as any sign the other hadn't simply fallen asleep.

"Want to talk about it?" He murmured.

She didn't answer for at least a minute.

"No." She replied, softly. She let go of his face, sliding her hand down his chest and stopping on his thigh. "Father-" She began, then stopped, not sure how to go on.

"Father." Jacob said, from behind her, understanding clear in his tone.

She wanted to explain. Wanted to say a lot of things but hadn't the first idea how to start. She simply didn't know.

"Father." She said again, quietly.

Jacob held her a little tighter.

"I know, sister." He replied. His voice was uncharacteristically shaky, unsure. "I was there too."

"Would all fathers do such things to their children?" She whispered. "If they thought it was necessary?"

"Some worse, I expect." Jacob mumbled. "I think he loved us, at least. He had to make Assassins of us." Her brother laughed again, though it was hollow.

"He did." She insisted. "To both." She added, just as vehement.

"As you say." Jacob said, after a pause.

She leaned back into him, caressing his thigh idly. She could…feel him beneath her, but he didn't say anything. He never pushed her, or tried to do anything she didn't want him to do.

"I can…uh…go if you want to go back to-" He began, hesitantly.

"Stay." She yawned, letting her legs unfold slightly as she curled up in his lap, her head resting in his shoulder.

"Think I can manage that." He yawned again, stretching his arms before dropping one around her shoulders, pulling her close.

Evie closed her eyes, taking a degree of comfort she'd never admit in the warmth and the smell and the touch.

"Good." She exhaled, and drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another dose of insanity.


	3. Idle Hands

“So, find anything useful at old Kenway’s place or just more smoke and mirrors?” Jacob asked, throwing a sidelong glance at Henry.

“You do not think much of the value placed on Precursor artefacts, do you?” Henry replied, calmly.

The two were crouched side by side on the edge of a bit of scaffolding overlooking a rundown sort of courtyard between a cluster of dilapidated housing in Southwark.

“Precursors, Pieces of Eden…whatever. Fighting over a bunch of ancient nonsense when we should be focusing on fighting the Templars.” Jacob grumbled. “Speaking of which.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing intently, then opened them. The world appeared in a muted, grey hue. Everything was…clear, though.

Henry fell silent beside him, recognising what he was doing. He’d spent enough time with Evie now to know that both the twins were capable of the “Sight”.

The territory was Blighter-held, a staging area or hideout of sorts. Henry, for some reason, had offered to come along with him that afternoon. He’d stayed out of his way, seeming more interested in observing him at work than interfering.

Jacob had no problem with that.

“It’s a remarkable skill.” Henry said, half to himself. “Very rare, and to find not only two Assassins in the same country, the same city, but the same family too.”

“If you say so, Greenie.” Jacob’s eyes travelled across the area below, latching onto one, then…two more Blighters.

Both were clearly nervous, staying close and circling the muddy courtyard, being now well aware of the fates of their comrades already. Jacob hadn’t hidden the bodies, but he hadn’t been seen yet either. He liked the idea that they were terrified of him, having no clue what was coming or from where.

It was the little things.

“Better to find them first and be proven right than to find the Templars have them and be proven wrong, no?” Henry grinned.

Jacob watched the two Blighters draw closer, back to back, mulling the man’s words over. Close together they were now. Close enough.

“I suppose.” He conceded, grudgingly.

He didn’t hear whether Henry replied or not. There was only a rush of wind and a familiar, metallic slicing through the air as he dropped from the scaffolding above the Blighters.

 

…

 

Evie pored over the book on the desk before her. It was Henry’s book on flowers. There were notes here and there on various samples he’d had time to collect between his work, though it was still largely empty.

She was alone, and wasn’t expecting to be interrupted. Henry was supposedly out with her brother hunting Blighters, and any Rooks aboard generally kept to the two rear carriages of the train. They didn’t generally interact with her anyway, and she was fine with that.

Her hand still held the amulet…key…whatever it was she’d found in Kenway’s vault before the Templars had started battering down the door. It angered her to think of the loss of yet _more_ Assassin knowledge of the past, especially to the Templars.

Though she’d said it in passing, in the heat of the moment, maybe there was something to be said for her idea. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, when this was all done with, to find a safe place of their own to collect what they knew. Maybe several. Disperse things over a wider area. Maybe-

Evie shook her head, tutting. She was getting ahead of herself. They might both perish on this insane mission to “liberate” London, or find the artefact supposedly hidden somewhere in the city. They were up against an enemy that had had many years to prepare.

Though…she couldn’t deny, they were making some headway. Jacob had been optimistic about kicking the Blighters from Lambeth in a week or so, the other day. Today he was already scouting Blighter holdouts in Southwark. Although he had yet to stop the flow of Starrick’s Soothing Syrup coming out of the southernmost borough, or pin down the head Templar of the area, some doctor or something, she vaguely recalled.

Evie couldn’t shake the niggling doubts that persisted about Jacob’s “mission”, however.

London was an old city, a changed city. It was a city the Templars had almost rebuilt around themselves. They were a part of it. If key figures were just…gone…there _could_ be serious problems, serious consequences for the people. The families, the workers, the already destitute.

But she was an Assassin, they were _supposed_ to kill Templars, her training told her that her brother was just doing his duty.

So why did her instincts tell her that something was wrong?

They were at war. The Templars would kill them without a thought, given the chance, they couldn’t afford to be at war with one another, she couldn’t even afford to be at war with herself. They had to stand together.

She and Jacob had had some thunderous arguments and fall-outs growing up, but there’d never been anything truly at stake before. They always patched it up anyway, with a bit of time.

Jacob and Evie Frye. They were twins. Family.

…lovers, she supposed, though the word didn’t seem to quite fit. It wasn’t that simple.

Evie flipped to the next page of a book, sliding in a pressed flower she’d found while she’d been out that morning.

She did love him though, for what it was worth.

“Oh, you’ve found some more?”

She jumped, standing bolt upright from the desk and spun around, shoving the book aside in a blindingly unsubtle way.

Henry strolled casually into the carriage, smiling easily with his hands clasped behind his back as if he was without a care in the world.

“Er…yes.” She replied, attempting a smile of her own. It felt like a grimace.

“Thank you, Miss Frye.” He grinned, his teeth shining through. They were so white. It was oddly eye-catching.

And now she was staring.

“Quite alright.” She waved off his thanks, attempting to recompose herself. “And its Evie.” She tried to smile again.

“You look like you’ve just trodden in something unpleasant.” Jacob appeared, breezing into the room, tossing his hat smoothly onto a hook by the planning board and dropping onto the sofa with a contented sigh.

She glared at him, and he scowled back. Henry only chuckled to himself, wandering back across the carriage.

“What are you doing back anyway?” She crossed her arms, irritably.

“We had a very productive afternoon, I thought.” Henry leaned back against the bookcase.

“Killed a few Blighters, maybe a Templar or too.” Jacob shrugged. “Greenie watched.”

“It was an educational experience, to be sure.” The other Assassin nodded, thoughtfully. “You have proven to be a veritable wellspring of knowledge.”

“Hear that?” Jacob grinned at her. “I’m a wellspring of knowledge.”

“I heard.” Evie rolled her eyes.

“I should be going, my friends.” Henry turned for the door. “Miss Frye, if you should ever require an extra pair of hands in your investigations, do not be afraid to call on me.” He left her a parting smile that made her stomach flip, before slipping out the door.

There was a brief burst of sound from outside before the door closed after him.

“Evie.” She mumbled, to herself.

Jacob snorted, from the sofa.

“Funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Screw you.”

“That an invitation?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, cheesily.

She glared, and for a moment he did look worried. That made her feel a little better.

“…sorry.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly.

Evie bit her lip, fighting a smirk, before pushing away from the desk and walking over to the sofa. Jacob shuffled backward, straightening in his seat, a look of doubt on his face.

“What’s wrong, Jacob?” She asked, innocently, stopping in front of him.

“…that’s a real smile, and it has me…uh…shall we say you have my undivided attention?”

“Good.” She knelt down in front of him, his eyes locked on hers. “I’d hate to think your mind was elsewhere, brother.”

“You have a way of…commanding my attention, Evie.” He swallowed, as her hands came to rest on his knees. “But you already know that.”

He didn’t move as she slid her hands up his legs, then grabbed his belt, unbuckling it. With a slow, steady, practiced hand, she undid his trousers and then waited.

Jacob was breathing slowly, his face kept carefully blank. She noted one eye going to the door that led to the next carriage, where a few of the Rooks were normally hanging around, drinking.

“Worried someone will come in?” She tilted her head slightly, mock worried. “I thought you never cared who knew about us.”

“I think-” He stopped abruptly, eyes widening slightly when she squeezed her hand down his trousers, fumbling around for a moment before finding what she was looking for. “…aheerm.” He managed, as her hand closed around it.

“Mm?” She smiled, then blinked as she noticed. “Oh, that was fast. Unless the mere sight of me is enough to get you going?” She squeezed, lightly.

He inhaled sharply.

“What would you say…” She began moving her hand back and forth. “…if someone walked in now, Jacob Frye?”

“Fuck.” He breathed, leaning back, as her she quickened the motion.

“Seems apt.”

Just as he was about to exhale, she stopped. He groaned.

“What-” He growled, shaking his head, as if trying to straighten his thoughts out.

“I’ve got to go.” She stood up quickly.

“You what?” He managed, half out of breath.

“Somewhere there’s a lock for this key.” She withdrew the amulet, dangling it in front of him.

“Somewhere, there’s a version of this moment where you don’t run off and leave me hangin’.”

She smirked, pocketing the amulet and leaned forward.

“Poor brother.” She mock-frowned sympathetically.

“I should say-”

Evie grabbed his collar with both hands and pulled him forward, kissing him firmly on the lips, cutting him off. He seemed only too willing as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. The surprise must have faded because his hands found their way to her hips, sliding around to grip her rear. She hummed appreciably as he squeezed her behind a few times, holding the kiss a few moments more, before pulling back.

“You taste like old boot.” She sighed, licking her lips and standing up again.

“Been a long day.” He mumbled, dreamily, sliding back into the sofa.

“I’ll be back later tonight.” She opened the door to the outside, putting her hood up with her other hand. “Don’t wait up.” She glanced back.

He looked at her, then chuckled.

“Oh, I’m waiting up.”

She smiled, then slipped outside.


	4. Anarchy In The UK

_His hand travelled down her side, feeling every bump, every scar, every past break or injury. The story of their lives written in their skin and bones. She was thinner than he remembered, or maybe he was just bad at noticing that kind of thing when they weren’t alone._

_She was breathing heavily as with his other hand he cupped her breast, alternating between lightly caressing and massaging the soft flesh. His eyes travelled up her naked body, taking in every pale, mottled, bruised part of her as she eased down, straddling him._

_His chest was heaving too, his body tense, expectant. His hands came to rest on the curve of her hips as she placed her hands, palm down on his shoulders and leaned forward._

_There was a quiet moment, then she lifted herself slightly, and he repositioned himself and he felt himself enter into her._

_She half-sighed. Her dark eyes, so like his own, met his._

_“Jacob.” She breathed, in a rush._

_“Evie.” He managed, in return._

_“Jacob.” She said again, more insistently, as she slid backward and forward, slow at first._

_God, it was intoxicating. Her body was light, but belied the strength that she carried within as she began to drive him harder, faster._

_Her hands were gripping his shoulders harder and he gripped her hips tighter, as the motion quickened again._

_“Jacob.” She was staring at him, intensely. “Jacob!”_

_He found something a bit off about her tone, suddenly, opening his mouth to voice a question he couldn’t seem to ask._

_“Jacob! Jac-_

“-ob! Jacob!”

“Wrrssrt?” He half-yelled, swatting the hands shaking him by the shoulders away as he awoke in a rush.

His bleary eyes came into focus and he found the dream-memory of Evie looking down at him morphing slowly into the visage of a very worried-looking Henry Green.

That seemed to bring him back into reality.

“What?” He grumbled, getting unsteadily to his feet. He scratched his head, straightening out his messy hair as he tried to shake away the last vestiges of the…rather intense dream.

For the briefest moment, Henry’s expression was unfamiliar to him. The usual well-meaning air and easy charm was gone, replaced by a look of…what he thought might have been curiousity, or interest, before it was gone, quickly replaced by one of serious concern.

Before the various useful parts of his brain caught up with him, remembering the other man’s urgency, he found himself wondering, what he’d said or done to cause that look. What if-

_Oh god, what if he talked in his sleep._

“Look-” He managed, before Henry cut him off.

“Miss Frye is in trouble.” Henry began, seemingly not hearing him. “She said something about going to help out that Marx fellow earlier at a speech he was making to some supporters and now I hear there’s a full-blown riot in Southwark.”

Jacob stared at him for a moment, trying to grasp what he’d just said. Then something clicked in his head, something like,

_Evie. Danger._

, and then it was all very simple.

“Round up as many of the lads as you can and get there fast. I’m going on ahead.” He bowled past Henry, grabbing his coat and hat.

For a brief moment he expected some kind of argument, but Henry only nodded solemnly, and he remembered the man had proved, if nothing else, he was far more sensible and realistic than Jacob was.

“Good luck.” Henry said.

Jacob nodded and stepped outside. With barely any thought, he raised his arm, fired his rope launcher and jumped off the train.

 

…

 

Evie ducked another swing from the muscled thug in front of her, barely managing to avoid a grab from another Blighter behind her.

Things had gotten a little out of control.

The small square was had gone from a peaceful gathering to a chaotic melee in a matter of seconds.

Marx had told her to look out for the troublemakers in the crowd from the off. She’d spotted a few plants from the police and Blighters by the Templars seeded among the gathered workers using her “Sight” and had gone to work.

It had been little to no trouble, to pick them off quietly among the crowd, and so she had started.

But then another two-dozen Blighters had appeared out of one of the alleyways armed with clubs and boards. Hired by factory owners on the side she theorised, to disperse the gathering. Before she could get out of the crowd, or Marx could talk down the tense stand-off, somebody threw a punch and a battle had started.

Now she was surrounded by angry workers and angry gangsters. And the Blighters seemed to have recognised her now.

She’d dealt with overwhelming numbers before, but normally in situations of her choosing. Now she was trapped in a constantly shifting crowd, surrounded by opponents who came and went in the crowd and dozens of innocent people either fighting the Blighters or fighting to get free. And Marx was lost in the mess somewhere.

Her options were limited, to say the least.

A hand reached out to grab her from her right. She caught it by the wrist and snapped it with her elbow, hauling the then-wailing attacker across to her left, into another Blighter.

“Marx!” She yelled. “Karl!” But it was drowned out by the chaos around her.

More Blighters were pouring in from the alley the first group had arrived. Then she heard the sound of heavy boots marching in step down another alley.

“Coppers.” She muttered, her stomach sinking. She wasn’t ready for the board that collided with the back of her head.

 

…

 

Jacob gripped the rope, teeth pressed together as he slid down from the factory chimney onto a sloping roof above the square. Maybe around a hundred people were pressed together in a roiling mass, trapped between Blighters, strike-breakers, workers trying to flee, workers trying to fight and a few dozen policemen just entering the fray from the other direction.

“Greenie, you better be here soon or…” He stooped low, scanning the crowd for any sign of his sister as he fixed on his knuckleduster. Or Marx.

He tried several times to focus enough to use his “sight”, but was having trouble. It took a bit of effort most times, and now he was fighting down worry about Green’s arrival, the peaceful worker’s rights campaigner, the people trapped here but mostly, Evie.

Lord knew, she could take care of herself, and she’d probably chide him scathingly for his concerns, but…

His eyes caught a flash of white on some decking, beneath a makeshift cover for a storage unit. Bushy hair, a beard, he was sure of it.

He leapt down, taking a Blighter down with him. Without a thought he buried his wristblade in the back of their neck and forced his way through the jostling crowd.

“Marx!” He growled, elbowing a copper in the face and breaking the knee of a second with sharp kick.

The man looked up, managing a desperate wave before he was nearly swept out of sight again. Jacob pressed on, hurling himself at a brawler, pummelling the man repeated in the face till all that was left was a pulpy mess.

“Mr Frye!” The older man yelled, out of breath, as Jacob dispatched the second Blighter assaulting the activist.

“Where is my sister.” He demanded.

“She was combing the crowd for troublemakers.” The man replied, worriedly, his accent thickening under duress. “I hadn’t expected the strike-breakers, they attacked everybody! Miss Frye was caught in the middle.” He continued, helplessly.

Jacob looked around, taking the man’s shoulder and holding him close. Green should nearly be here now, the train hadn’t been far and he had men in Southwark now. It shouldn’t take an Assassin long to find their way-

He caught a flash of green this time, coming from a third alleyway feeding into the square, then more.

“Make for that alley, Marx. My men are there.” Jacob indicated it. “The man in charge is called Henry. Tell him to force open an exit there so people can get out of this mess.”

“Thank you, my boy.” Marx clasped his shoulder apologetically. “Please, best of luck finding Miss Frye. This is all my fault. If anything has happened to her I don’t know how I shall-”

“I’ll find her, just get out of here.” Jacob repeated. “Oh, and tell Greenie if any of the lads feel like getting stuck in I would greatly appreciate it.”

He watched the man go, before turning back to the greater extent of the riot. Blue uniforms clashed with the red colours of the Blighters and all the people stuck between. Evie would be wherever most Blighters were.

Jacob climbed up the old structure sheltering the decking, sparing a glance over where the Rooks had arrived. He could already see his men ushering out many of the innocent bystanders. He nodded, satisfied and turned his attention back to the rest. He would try the “sight” again. This time, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, then closed his eyes. Most of the problems of before were solved, he just had to find Evie.

He opened them, bathing the world in a dull, muted grey. Everything sounded like it was far away, or slowed down slightly. He saw coppers, he saw Blighters, and there…there…

There she was, pinned down beneath a Templar leading a group of gangsters as they took turns kicking and beating her.

“Evie!” He yelled tearing into a run as he flung himself off the scaffolding and into the air above the melee.

He didn’t bother with technique and simply allowed himself to smash into the throng of Blighters surrounding his sister, throwing them into chaos. His elbow broke the jaw of the nearest, as he half-rolled to his feet, then he brought his knee up hard into another’s stomach, knocking the air from their lungs. He punched another in the neck, relishing the sickening crunch that followed.

“Jacob.” Evie groaned, from the floor.

He looked down at her, bruised, battered, bloody and felt the rage boiling out of control inside.

“You.” He snarled, zeroing in on the black-coated Templar.

His opponent panicked, brandishing a gun. Jacob grabbed his wrist with his gauntlet and punched him in the chin, smashing his jaw. He tightened his grip on the wrist more and more, until it snapped in his metal-clad hand. The man screamed gutturally, already spraying blood because of his broken face. Jacob punched him again, and again, and again.

The Templar had fallen limp, to the floor, but Jacob held on to his broken wrist and went on, kicking the pathetic remnants of the man on the floor. He finally cast the arm aside and began stomping the broken man with his heavy boots. He could feel his sister watching him but he went on, growling and cursing indiscriminately until there was almost nothing left, nothing that looked human, anyway.

“Jacob.” Evie tried again, rolling onto her side, clutching her head.

He finally stopped, as she spoke. He was breathing heavily, and turned away to help her up. Too late he saw her eyes widen and he was suddenly rushed from behind by three or four more men, bearing him to the ground. He struggled and fought back against them but he could do little as the blows rained down on him.

He was pretty sure he felt a lot of important bits and pieces breaking as the beating went on and his world was filled with pain.

A gunshot cut through the sounds of chaos around him. Followed by a second. Two of the Blighters fell dead, disrupting their comrades. He managed to grab the nearest living attacker by the throat, dragging him down to the floor with him and headbutting him repeatedly until the man stopped screaming and started rasping uselessly.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Evie on her feet, wielding her cane-sword like a devil, as if she hadn’t just been on the verge of collapse. She used it to break the knees of her opponent in a low swing, then drove the blade into his stomach as he fell, kicking his lifeless body aside.

“Miss Frye! Evie! Jacob!” Henry’s voice rang out from nearby.

“C’mon.” Evie knelt down beside him, grabbing his arm carefully and hooking it over her shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“I was saving you, I thought.” He grumbled, fighting down the pain in…well…everywhere, as the pair struggled to their feet, she bearing most of his weight.

Jacob didn’t know how she did it. Some people got a ‘second wind’ sometimes, he knew, but Evie just kept _going_.

Her eyes met his and she smiled briefly. She had a black eye, bruised lips, cuts and scrapes all over her face and neck and her hair had partially come out of the tight braids she normally kept it in. She was a mess, but she was alive.

For a fleeting moment she’d never looked as beautiful to him in all his life.

It took him another moment to realise she was staring back at him with a vaguely similar amount of intensity.

Henry appeared suddenly, then, looking pleased to have found the pair mostly intact.

“We need to go, quickly. The police are closing in.” He gestured the way he’d come, where the Rooks were keeping an exit open.

“Right.” Evie nodded, finally looking away.

Together, the three lost themselves in the fleeing workers and went out into the city.

 

…

 

Later that night, over his protests, Evie had forced him into her bed, arguing that he was in even worse shape than she was. And he couldn’t really disagree.

“Why is it,” He groaned, laying back stiffly, “, that I came out worse after rescuing you?”

His coat, boots and vest were discarded on the floor. He’d attempted to remove his shirt and given up halfway. Undoing buttons proved far too dextrous a challenge for his useless hands.

“I think I rescued you in the end, Jacob.” Evie replied, from the armchair, struggling out of her tall boots.

Her coat and vest were gone, leaving her in only an untucked, half-unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled and her…always noticeably tight trousers.

Well, he noticed.

As he lay back, watching her heaving the long, leather boots off her equally long, appealing legs clumsily, he found his mind wandering back to his earlier dream.

Well, memory.

It hadn’t been their first time. Or even their second or third that he remembered the most. It was after a mission to stop a shipment of Templar goods aboard a train, a few years back. Nearly everything had gone wrong and as they’d split up, neither was sure whether the other was alive. They found one another, scarred, bloody and torn and more than pleased to see the other wasn’t dead after all.

They’d made love that night, and it hadn’t been like any time before. There was something else behind it, an urgency, an agency, a need. It was stronger, it meant more to both of them. He hadn’t felt quite like that in a long time.

Evie looked up a she successfully managed to remove her other boot, and in an instant he knew she’d read him like a book.

“Had a dream earlier.” He said, as she started undoing the remnants of her braid. “About that time.”

She nodded, knowing what he was talking about.

“I thought I might’ve lost you, earlier.”

“You know better than that.” She replied, calmly.

“I do.” He shrugged, then winced at the pain. “Still worried though.”

Evie stood up, shaking her head a little, sending her hair tumbling back over her shoulders.

“I was thinking about it too.” She said quietly, sitting on the side of the bed. Her hand gripped his, rubbing it softly. “Really thought they might kill you when you went down.”

“Noticed you fired your gun.” He smirked. “You must have been really worried.”

She smiled a little in return.

“A little.”

He met her eyes again for a moment. She leaned across him and blew out the lamp above them, bathing the carriage in a cool, blue-hued darkness. The sounds of the train outside muted slightly, as they remained still.

Eventually, he gripped her hand tighter, trying to pull her closer. Evie seemed to get the message, as he shuffled over to make room for her on the bed beside him. They held one another, she slowly helping him free of his shirt and trousers, he failing to help his sister remove her own.

In the end, he settled for simply trailing a hand over the now-exposed skin of her stomach while she struggled free of her trousers, throwing them aside carelessly.

She hooked one of her legs in his, her bare skin rubbing with his. It didn’t take too long to provoke a reaction in other parts of his body.

Evie’s lips curled in a smile as she locked eyes with him.

While her hands folded around him, he slipped his other hand under the thin camisole she still wore and began slowly caressing her chest. She sighed, contentedly, then pressed her lips against his, closing what little space remained between them.

Things began to play out much like his dream, Jacob noticed, semi-aware, as Evie rolled on top of him. He slid her knickers down from her waist as she pulled down his own underwear and began kissing him again, trailing them down his neck.

His hands were on her waist and he could feel the depth of their connection as she positioned herself over him and his manhood entered into her. Her eyes never left his as she began to slide back and forth over him, quicker and quicker.

He saw old scars, wounds, fresh injuries, bruises, breaks. Imperfections, flaws, scabs, bumps.

So did she.

“Jacob.” She whispered.

They didn’t need to talk. It didn’t need explaining. They just needed each other.

“Evie.” He breathed, as she gripped his shoulders, head lolling back.

The story of their lives was told in their skin and bones. But there was so much more buried beneath the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is semi-based on the shitstorm that went down during my playthrough of that Karl Marx mission. I *was* mid-way through picking off the targets and a dozen Blighters *did* turn up and literally attack the crowd. And the police *did* then turn up in response and attack the Blighters.
> 
> I sat back and watched.


	5. Dustbowl Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a while I'll admit, but I felt like coming back to this. More of the Frye twins up to their shenanigans. And yeah, the title is the Mumford and Sons song.

Evie bobbed and weaved around her opponent, fists raised. Sweat glistened on the bare skin of her arms and neck. The guy was twice her size and looked like he could hit twice as hard…if he could actually land a punch. Looked like a dockworker. All grit and grease and weathered skin.

 

Jacob smirked, watching from the sidelines with the rest of the crowd, braying, yelling and betting around him. Whitechapel’s fighting ring was a smoky den of violence, drinking and gambling. Built almost underground, more like an animal’s den than anything else.

 

Her opponent lunged again. Strong, clearly. But clumsy as hell. Evie was already in his blind spot, raising her fists again.

 

The crowd upped the ante, money changed hands. Most were betting the guy would turn and lay her out flat, maybe even knock her across the ring.

 

Jacob knew better.

 

“Tenner on Evie.” He nudged a bookie.

 

The docker spun, lashing out with his elbow. Evie dropped under his arm and snarled, springing upward, driving her fist up into his gut. The man coughed, snapping forward and Evie stepped back.

 

The crowd stilled. Jacob crossed his arms and leaned on the fence, grinning.

 

“Wrrgghh…” The docker groaned, struggling to stand upright.

 

A smirk flashed across Evie’s lips as she drew back her fist and smashed it into the guy’s jaw, slicing down. He made a garbled noise, and spat a mouthful of blood and what looked like a few teeth, then caved over sideways.

 

Evie lowered her fists, shoulders finally slumping as she allowed herself to relax.

 

Around her, were the groaning, rolling bodies of half a dozen more idiots who’d picked the wrong day to try their luck.

 

His sister had told him about her scrap with Lucy Thorne at St. Pauls the day before. It had been close, to hear her tell it, and he knew that made Evie edgy. She never liked to feel she wasn’t in control.

 

This was just her way of…relieving stress, mixed in with a little practice. But mostly stress relief.

 

“Feeling better yet?” He chuckled, calling out through the din of the crowd. Sounded like plenty of winners and losers on both sides.

 

Some knew his sister by now, some didn’t.

 

“A bit.” She cracked her knuckles, rolling her neck as she strolled over to the edge.

 

Most of the onlookers filtered away, some smiling, some less happy, leaving the den suddenly much quieter.

 

Jacob nodded to the bookie, accepting his winnings with a smirk. He quickly dropped the small purse into a pocket in his hat and popped it back on, slanted to one side. As crooked as his grin, Evie would have said.

 

It wasn’t really gambling when you were betting on his sister.

 

Evie dropped her arms on the haggard fence around the ring, leaning on it and eyeing him with interest. Sweat clung to her skin and her cheeks were flush. Strands of hair had escaped her braid and hung about her face.

 

“What?” Jacob asked, leaning on the fence, opposite her.

 

“Want to go a few rounds?” She grinned, still a little out of breath.

 

Jacob watched her fingers flex and close, gripping the fence.

 

“Oh no, I’ve far too much sense for that, sister.” He shook his head, slowly. “Not when you’re in this mood.”

 

Evie smiled slightly, in reply.

 

Behind her, the other wounded fighters were starting to struggle up and out of the ring. Some were familiar, and managed a wave, or a respectful nod as they left. But the last guy, the dockworker, he looked…decidedly upset.

 

“Fuck this, you! Bitch!” The bull of a man snarled, getting up and stretching his arms. “You cheated!”

 

Evie scoffed, turning and leaning her back against the fence.

 

“You hit like a girl.” She said, calmly.

 

“Well, let’s work on that.” The docker growled.

 

He roared and charged. Evie lifted herself up onto the fence. Jacob grabbed her hips and lifted, allowing her to get her feet on the fence and she stepped aside quickly. The docker struggled to stop, coming face to face with Jacob.

 

“Hello, chap.” Jacob smiled. He removed his hat and headbutted the docker, hard.

 

The docker stumbled back, clutching his head and groaning. Evie stepped carefully along the fence until she was in front of him. Evie lashed out with her leg, striking him in the face with her boot. Jacob heard something snap.

 

“You bloody idiot.” He shook his head, wincing, as he put his hat back on and leant on the fence again.

 

“Urnnggh.” The man grumbled, spitting up mouthfuls of blood and glancing up at Evie. Finally with the amount of fear and awe she deserved, Jacob thought. “…’m sorry.” He choked up another glob of spit and blood.

 

“Bit late for that, mate.” Jacob grinned.

 

Evie put one foot on his shoulder and quickly, elegantly slipped down onto his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his neck and throwing herself backwards. The docker let out a strangled cry as he was  wrenched through the air up and over Evie, who tucked into a ball and used the momentum to throw the poor bastard across the ring, into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of sawdust and debris.

 

The few fighters who hadn’t yet left groaned in sympathy, offering a brief smattering of applause before retreating at last. That left just him and Evie now, and the beaten, unconscious docker.

 

Evie struggled up to her feet again, dusting herself off. Her thin shirt was a little worse for wear, now, torn in places, hanging off one shoulder. He found his eyes drawn to that pale, bare skin around her neck, down that shoulder to her arm.

 

Evie caught his eye and traced his gaze. She smirked slightly, as she approached the fence again.

 

“Something catch your eye, Jacob?” She vaulted the fence and he stepped back, catching her legs in his arms and carrying her backwards with him.

 

“Could say that.” Jacob looked up at her. “You don’t often show much skin.”

 

“Outside the bedroom, you mean?” Her hands were on his shoulders and she leaned down sharply, pressing her lips to his. Tasted salty, gritty. Skin was chapped a bit. Like blood and sweat mingled.

 

He stumbled and preoccupied with Evie as he was, he fell backwards, dragging them both to the floor in a heap, and a cloud of dust.

 

“Clumsy sod.” Evie coughed, swatting his shoulder and straddling his chest.

 

“What can I say, Evie?” Jacob coughed, laying back and placing his hands on her hips. “You know how to get my attention.”

 

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, then looked down at him. Evie’s lip curled slightly, and she cocked one brow. Without warning, she plucked his hat from where it had fallen, beside his head and peered inside it.

 

“What are you doing?” Jacob asked, reaching for it, but she moved it out of reach and dug out a couple of notes.

 

“My cut, I think?” She smirked, stuffing them down her top and sticking his hat crookedly on her head. She leaned closer, defying him to take it back. Hat and money both.

 

He stared at her for a moment. The image of Evie, smiling confidently, half her face obscured by the hat too big for her at the same time endearing and…cute…as it was noticeably flirtatious.

 

“You are in a better mood.” Jacob muttered.

 

“I think so.” Evie tilted her head.

 

She suddenly got up, hauling him to his feet with her, and set about tidying the collar of his coat. He reached out and pushed the hat further back on her head, so he could see her face.

 

“Shall we go home, brother Jacob?” Evie asked, catching his eye, a familiar hunger plain behind them.

 

“I think we shall, sister Evie.” He held out his arm, which she took, stopping only to gather her coat and equipment as they left.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I've been playing a lot of Syndicate lately.


End file.
